Such a sunny, warm day. 52 degrees in November. Milton and I are sitting in the sunshine in the kitchen. A time to settle down and reflect.
Death is an inevitable part of life. I just wish it ALWAYS came after many long years of living. My mom died at 57 in November of 1978. She struggled to live for three years after a heart attack. The life of the beloved daughter of friends was brutally taken in November a few years ago. A beautiful niece lost her battle with breast cancer November of this year. I'm not singling out or blaming this month. We've all had many losses and no month is exempt.
My dad died at 91. Wish he could've lived forever, but he had his share. Sad, but not tragic or brutal or devastating. A 'good death'.
At 37, Dylan Thomas (who also died in November at age 39) wrote his famous poem.
"Do not go gentle into that good night. Old age should burn and rave at close of day. Rage, rage against the dying of the light."
I would've agreed at 37. Now I don't. Dad went 'gentle into that good night'. Appropriate after 91 years of happiness, sadness, good times and bad. I held his hand as he relaxed his grip on a full life.
A life cut short by disease or violence; that deserves "raving at the close" and "raging against the dying of the light".
Those who die old and full of years-they're the lucky ones.
We won't live forever, but I hope we 'get our share'.
Death is an inevitable part of life. I just wish it ALWAYS came after many long years of living. My mom died at 57 in November of 1978. She struggled to live for three years after a heart attack. The life of the beloved daughter of friends was brutally taken in November a few years ago. A beautiful niece lost her battle with breast cancer November of this year. I'm not singling out or blaming this month. We've all had many losses and no month is exempt.
My dad died at 91. Wish he could've lived forever, but he had his share. Sad, but not tragic or brutal or devastating. A 'good death'.
At 37, Dylan Thomas (who also died in November at age 39) wrote his famous poem.
"Do not go gentle into that good night. Old age should burn and rave at close of day. Rage, rage against the dying of the light."
I would've agreed at 37. Now I don't. Dad went 'gentle into that good night'. Appropriate after 91 years of happiness, sadness, good times and bad. I held his hand as he relaxed his grip on a full life.
A life cut short by disease or violence; that deserves "raving at the close" and "raging against the dying of the light".
Those who die old and full of years-they're the lucky ones.
We won't live forever, but I hope we 'get our share'.
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